


Callidus Vipera

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Series: Prowess [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dorian has a pet snake, Fluff, Gen, Tevinter cliches abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:45:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian nearly loses that attractive head of his for a very peculiar reason.</p>
<p>Or, Dorian gets a pet snake and, if all goes as planned, will taunt Sera with it at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Callidus Vipera

_"Dorian! Watch out!"_ The mage was distracted and the Seeker's call snapped him out of his reverie far too slowly for him to attack. Lost for a better recourse he hit the deck, staff and all. The arrow meant for his head plunged into the tree a few feet away. Dorian all but vanished in the thick underbrush as Cassandra's answering blow took the offending archer's head clean off his shoulders. The last enemy of yet another ambush fell, defeated. The body had barely made it to the ground before the Seeker was upon the mage, hauling him back to his feet by the back of his robes. Dorian most certainly did not squeak indignantly at being righted in such a way.

"That was foolish!" Cassandra snarled, one accusatory finger pointed an inch from the Tevinter's nose. The massive trees surrounding them may very well have been quivering from the force of the Seeker's wrath alone. "What in the Maker's name were you _doing_ , Dorian?"

"Ehm," his hands were raised, submissive. No snappy retort came; the mage looked cowed. A distinct tinge of pink brushed his cheekbones. Lovely as they were, Cassandra had him beat there, too, her own sculpted features twisted in anger and flushed. "I faltered, I admit." The Tevinter bowed, one hand cast out to his side and the other curled cordially against his chest. "I appreciate the assistance."

Cassandra made a quiet huff of irritation under her breath as she turned away. "See that it doesn't happen again." She wiped her sword on the grass and stomped off, heading back in the direction of camp. The sun was sinking in the distance, casting long shadows around them, the Graves settling into a heavy sort of stillness. 

"Don't take it too personally, Lord Pavus. You scared her," Trevelyan's voice informed him, suddenly close. She'd said the last part quite quietly. Dorian felt himself pulled into a hasty half-hug. "Do keep yourself in one piece?" The tightness around Evelyn's eyes showed her worry but she smiled at him. He smiled back--wondered when in the Maker's name so many people in this backwards country actually gave a shit about him--and stooped to gather his effects.

 

It was several hours later around a campfire with some of the Inquisition's forward scouts that Trevelyan realized she was short one Tevinter pariah. A cursory glance around the surrounding area, lit as it was by torches, revealed no sign of him. Evelyn stood and stretched, brushing herself off, then went about searching as she made idle chat with some of the men and women. It was good for morale, she knew, much as it made her heart hurt a little that all these people were just as at risk as her closest friends each day. 

She came across Harding after clearing nearly the entire camp. Smiling, she went over to chat with Leliana's dwarven scout.

"Your Worship! Always a pleasure," Lace said cordially. Trevelyan smiled at her and shook the gloved hand the other woman offered.

"Likewise, Scout Harding. Anything exciting tonight? Well...Anything _fun_ exciting, I mean. I am rather tired of the kind of excitement we typically get out here." The dwarva chuckled.

"Nothing much, save some scary green light from yonder tent." She pointed and Trevelyan looked past her to a small tent on the very periphery of the camp, alight from within with a green not unlike the color her mark gave off. "Off and on for hours. Your Tevinter is trying to give my men nightmares with his light show."

"Dorian is doing that?"

"No other mages around, Ladyship." Harding glanced behind her. "Doesn't seem to be hurting anything, though he does have a rather strange habit of talking to himself."

"He does that."

"Yes. Truly, it's only really the _answering_ that's a little strange," Harding admitted. "I should probably get back to rounds. Good to see you, Inquisitor."

"You too, Lace," Evelyn smiled. They parted ways and she approached the glowing tent, curiosity getting the better of her. As she neared she could hear a clear, familiar voice coming from inside. The woman sighed a little--she adored Dorian's voice, melodic and smooth as it was--and hesitated as she heard him speak.

"You mustn't move, now. I've spent far too much energy for you to go wiggling about and undoing all my efforts." Trevelyan's head cocked to the side, confused. Was he talking to himself? It didn't seem so. "If you don't mind," the cultured voice called out, louder, "-eavesdropping is quite rude and I am rather busy." 

“Knock, knock, then,” Evelyn announced, fluttering her hand against the flap. Dorian loosed a belabored sigh.

“Ugh, I should have known some Southern would be the one to interrupt the evil magister from his work,” the man moaned. “Come in then, heathen.” The Inquisitor snorted and ducked into the tent to find herself facing Dorian's back. He sat cross-legged, green light pooled in a small area in front of him and the mage looking at her over one shapely, bare shoulder. "Ah, I should have guessed the barbarian was none other than the leader of our merry band," he sniffed. The quirk of his mustache gave him away, however, and a twitch of his head gestured her to come all the way in and close the flap.

"I found myself bereft of my favorite mage; what could I do but come looking?" He let out a surprised little huff of air, the steam from his impending tirade stolen. Dorian sighed.

"You are a devious, clever minx of a woman, disarming me so. Our poor Commander never stood a chance."

"No one alive would ever call _me_ a _minx,_ Dorian," Trevelyan scoffed, bending over to peek over his shoulder. "You are more minxy than me." He laughed; she placed a small peck on one well-formed cheekbone, grinning as she did it. "Anyway, no distractions, Messere Pavus. What are you up to, sneaking around out here on your own and scaring the men?"

"Southerners," the Tevinter lamented a second time. "Very well, I knew one of your would ask eventually," he said softly and waved a hand. The bright green light diffused as the spell went out; the only remaining light was a small lantern in the corner that, with a second sweep of Dorian's fingers, grew brighter, illuminating the tent again. This time, it was in soft light that was useful to see by. Evelyn leaned down, knees resting against Dorian's back as she bent double. 

A serpent lay coiled on the blanket in front of the mage, body wound up in a pile save the last two feet of it where lean shape tapered off into tail. A recently healed set of three bloody gashes stretched for the better part of that length, marring the smooth scales. Its patterning was of silvery grey broken up every few inches by saddle-shaped spots of burnt auburn. The thickest part of the reptile appeared to be about as thick as Trevelyan's wrist, its head set with slit pupiled eyes that focused back as the Herald stared.

"Maker, Dorian, it's _beautiful_ ," the Inquisitor breathed, bent down so far now her face was a scant two inches from the other mage's as she looked down at the creature. He looked at Evelyn sidelong, scanning for any sign of sarcasm; what he saw instead was wide-eyed, open-mouthed wonderment. The corners of his lips tugged upward as once again his friend surprised him.

"Callidus Vipera," Dorian explained quietly, reverently. All the breath left Trevelyan in a gust.

" _No,_ it can't be," she whispered. She dropped to her knees, resting her chin fully on Dorian's shoulder as she continued to stare. The Inquisitor was not what one would call a physical person, typically speaking. She was not overly comfortable with people in her personal space most of the time; however, that rule seemed to not apply when Evelyn was entranced with something and forgot to be self-conscious. Her blue-grey eyes glanced sidelong at his own before looking back at the snake. "Are you sure? How can it be? They've been extinct for ages."

"I am certain, yes. I would not have risked my own head mid-battle for just any random creature I'm afraid," Dorian explained. Evelyn let out a little ' _Oh_ ' of understanding. "She looks to have gotten slashed by some predator, perhaps some of the same that were chasing after us."

"She?"

"Too large to be a male, I'd wager, though she is young yet. I'll ask her later. For now, 'she' will do." Very suddenly, Trevelyan loosed a very unfeminine snort in his ear. Dorian shoved her off (gently but resolutely, because _really_ ) and she sat down hard on the furs, giggling like mad.

"Dorian, you--" more grinning, "you're an Altus mage. From _Tevinter._ and now you have a snake. Maker...." She put her face in her hands. "We should hang a sign on you that says 'Tevinter Cliche' and then in small letters beneath it 'except for the blood magic.' That’s it. I know what I’m getting you for Saturnalia." The man sighed, equal parts eloquent disdain and miffed irritation.

"I do hope there's more distinguishing me from my countrymen than _that_."

"Your dashing good looks, for one," she agreed, looking somber. A rather comical 180 from a few moments prior. "What are you going to do with her?"

"Make sure she's healthy and let her go I imagine. If the legends are to be believed, if she is displeased, she'll relieve herself of my company long before then."

"Hmm. Very well. We can keep this to ourselves for now then, see what happens." She patted one well-muscled shoulder as she rose to go. "I'll just tell the others you're off being weird, and not to worry. Shall I bring you dinner, Ser Mage?" Dorian gave an eloquent, long-suffering sigh.

"If you wish to, Lady Herald. Now do go torment the others with your inquisitorial silliness."

**Author's Note:**

> Got requests for "Prowess" (aka, ways in which Dorian is wonderful) or for pet snake shenanigans in particular? Please leave them below, or at my tumblr! (I'm catching up finally)
> 
> [Dichotomous_Dragon](http://dichotomous-dragon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
